


The dance of the spider and the flame

by Taniushka12



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (hypothetical murder), Cuddling & Snuggling, Desolation!Tim, Kind of lowkey meta, M/M, Multi, Plotting Murder, Web!Martin, cheering up your bf with the blood of your enemies, desolation ♠ web, warning for some minor body horror ig bc well desolation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-06-26 20:59:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19776301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taniushka12/pseuds/Taniushka12
Summary: The Desolation and The Web were known enemies, although neither Tim nor Martin cared for such technicalities, but then again while there were times the Desolation accepted (and, dare I say, almost admired) the latter, there were times when their avatar's goal was the same. And they could find some peace among the manipulation and the destruction.(Also, Elias? Fuck that guy)





	The dance of the spider and the flame

**Author's Note:**

> Ironically enough this started because I was writing down an Elias meta and got distracted by how much i love these two, web!martin &/x desolation!tim, and how hot was the very last scene of this fic lmao

Word said that the powers commonly known as "The Web" and "The Desolation" were enemies, and why wouldn't they be? Fire destroying a spider's delicate home, impulsivity destroying years of plotting in the shadows, recklessness versus restless patience. It was simply logical that the (direct or otherwise segmented) members of the Lightless Flame couldn't stand any Spider. It was as logical as any Beholder to tie in with the latter, for what else could be so similar, so inherently close than knowledge and control?

And that was maybe the reason why the Lightless Flame hated Spiders and the Eyes, hated their webs and their questions, for the inherency that they represented in some of its facets.

The Desolation was much more than fire, at its core. It was Fire, yes, it was Destruction, it was, obviously, Desolation, but how could a person completely desolate another without Knowing them? How could anyone destroy someone so intimately and insidious without playing their cards right, Controlling their fate and everything around so they could strike someone at their very core? The Desolation hated them, both the Beholding and the Web, but it was the Insolence of the latter that infuriated it if it could. Of having so much power over someone and to not use it to completely destroy them.

And then, on a much less transcendent level, it was hard sometimes, for a spider to try not to control a flame and for this to not harm the other in any way that mattered.

Tim hated being manipulated. Not in the same way than the Archivist, childhood trauma of the mere feeling of threads pulling his body, his tongue, his mind. No, he hated it because he was just a guy who already went through a lot, had to spend Years in the archives under the Watcher's gaze, and he was so humanely and latter inhumanely _fed up_ by it. He felt them sometimes, though, Martin's threads, and as much as he wanted to burn them sometimes he left them on, wondering if it was precaution, for "pull the rope in case something goes wrong" scenarios, and tried to avoid the thought that said threads were tied to his mind besides his body.

And, on the other hand, Martin could see the fire behind his eyes when he looked at him; a fire of thinking, of knowing and being absolutely certain that with a couple of words he could reduce him to nothing. He wasn't sure of how much of it could be true. They've all changed, _he_ changed, and he was very much aware of it.

(Tim wondered, sometimes, if Martin realized just how much he resembled Jane Prentiss of all people. With his cooing of his spiders, the home he presented for them inside his clothes, inside his skin, inside his head, the patches of silk that he would often feel beneath his touch when he thought of touching his flesh, the vibrations, the song of the web...) ~~(Or Peter Lukas with his vacant eyes and friendly smiles) (Or even-)~~

(It was terrifying) (It was _tempting_ )

And the dances that Martin and Jon, the Archivist once claimed by The Web, did, they were also on tight rope sometimes. With the subtle tug and pull of knowledge, the spider's secrets and the way the archivist could take them, the archivist's fear and how easy would it be for the spider to use it, to use Him. Martin hated the fear he could so easily see on his eyes from very time to time when he was just being himself. (Hated the small pang of pride that came with it as well)

But back to the Spider and the Flame, the Web and the Desolation, there was one time where the God inside of them pointed in the same direction and, ironically, it was partly because of the Beholding.

Sometimes they visited him, visited Jon, in his place of power. It was a mundane thing they did, sometimes to recall old times before things went south, sometimes to drop him some food (or, occasionally, Food), sometimes just to say hi, but there was something that never changed no matter their mostly good intentions. The oppressive Eye of the Watcher that pinned them down from the moment they stepped on the building. After the fleeting moment in which they cut or burn the gaze from above them they really thought that wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore, and Yet...

—God I Hate him. —Tim said when they came back from a particularly bad visit, feeling his insides bubbling and having to stop himself from letting the heat reach the utter layer of waxy skin to not burn his lover—. I hate him so much, he just- We got out, we died and we escaped and the bastard still gets inside your head like he belongs there. I- I just want to burn him alive. —There was a certain hysterical edge to his words, high pitched and closer to snap than ever before.

—No... —Martin said behind him to his hair, making circles on his stomach with his hand as they lay on the bed—. No, he doesn't deserve that.

He sighed, angry.

—Martin I swear if you're gonna-

—He deserves worse.

—Worse than being burned alive? —Tim looked behind his shoulder to him, eyes locked somewhere far before nodding and looking at him. —What would you suggest, then? Because I can think different ways to make it _last_.

—It's just... It's not enough. —His voice was as soft as he always was sending a small shiver down Tim's spine, before frowning—. Although you Know he can't die, it would... kill Jon, or something.

He huffed, shifting so his back was against his chest again.

—Or so he says.

—I'd prefer not to risk it.

—Of course. Do you know how many times I've wanted to burn down the entire Institute if not for that? —He couldn't think of a power that didn't want to destroy the Institute at this point, and for that one specifically he couldn't blame them. The smell of yellowed pages and wood furniture (not to mention that well deserved revenge) were nearly enough to destroy it all once and for all.

—... I can only imagine—. He could practically hear the rise of his eyebrows and he laughed bitterly.

—There were A Lot. —...But alas, he already took his place on the Archivist's- on Jon's skin per request, and he wasn't excited at the prospect of more, despite his bare instincts. It was strange, to find the balance between wanting to burn ~~with~~ him and surprisingly not wanting to… Hurt him... He hummed, a few seconds in silence—...And how much would be enough to you?

—...That's the thing, isn’t it? Pain isn't enough, he doesn't care about that. I want... I want to humiliate him. —Tim smiled.

—How?

Silence fell again, his fingers absently making patters on his skin for a while until Tim shifted to look at him. Martin had this... look on his face, meditative, recalling something, and Tim turned to face him when he finally spoke again, throwing an arm around him.

—You can't kill him because he's the Head of the Institute, right?

—Right.

—What if he stopped being that?

—...Wouldn't work, didn't you try that already? —Martin frowned.

—No, not just "putting him off the position", I mean... I mean the "beating heart" part of it?

—Ho-

—Hypothetically. This- this is a big What If but... What if somebody _else_ took his place? —Tim raised an eyebrow, never quite understanding the power hierarchy inside the institute with all the names and positions, never interested enough to learn it, but kind of seeing the logic behind the stretch.

—...And who would be, hypothetically speaking, the new "heart"

—Basira.

He barked a laugh, surprised at the certainty of the words as Martin bit down a smile.

— _What?_

—I mean sure she's the Detective now but wouldn't she do a _great job_ taking care of the Institute?

—She'll kill you.

—She doesn't have to know!

—She'll _kill_ you. —He started laughing as Martin smiled toothily at him.

—She _doesn't_ have to know. —Replied with a laugh of his own, wriggling his fingers in front of his face. They laughed together, and some part of Tim didn’t fail to catch the change: Some time ago he wouldn't have laughed, that thin thread of prisoner's camaraderie present on his mind, but despite their weekly drinks neither of them got too close to her or the others, and much less after Tim's death and Martin's time with the Lonely. And, besides, the aftertaste of that cop lady seeing her lover slowly turn into, well, whatever it took for being the actual head of the institute, Tim knew it was going to be painful and sweet, no matter how many times Jon assures him that she had changed.

~~(And, just for a moment, Tim could feel the burnt undertone. _She Can Try_ )~~

Tim inched closer, laughter dancing a couple of seconds more before he huffed through his smile. Martin resumed what he was doing as he calmed down, kissing his forehead and stroking his hand across his now cool skin. He hummed, hands drumming on his chest and thinking about his words. He knew it was a ruse for him to settle down, feeling the fire inside of him flicking candle sized and warming his skin wherever Martin touched, but there was something about them...

After a while he asked, conversationally.

—And then… what? What would happen with Elias?

—... —His hand stopped, just for a moment—. Well, Basira wouldn't know, Daisy, Melanie, _Jon_ wouldn't know, so he wouldn't have any reason to know as well, you know?

—Mhm.

—So he'll just... gradually stop feeling, I guess. Stop _seeing_ as much as before. —Tim grinned, nudging his neck with his nose.

—Oh, that would be Very satisfying.

—I... I think I can... I mean I could try to put some thoughts into his mind... so it takes him longer to realize...

—Hmm then what, you'll eventually corner him with his biggest secret? —He chuckled at the irony until he felt him tense before him—. Sorry.

—...Eventually I'll tell him... —He went on—. I shouldn't but I **want** to tell him, I wanna see the look on his face when he realizes I- we actually won and... When he realizes he can _die_ —It felt so warm there, inside his embrace and feeling the slight tremor of his laugh, and Tim smiled, loving the image and feeling right in his element—. And **_then_** I'll give him to you and you can do whatever you want with him.

After a beat he gently pushed him aside and onto his back, climbing to sit on his legs and clearing the long curls on his face with a low chuckle.

—...You would do great in the Desolation. —Martin's face was priceless, surprise overcoming whatever hazy expression he was wearing

—Wha-? —He let out a sharp laugh—. No, no I don't- No thanks. I, um... I prefer to take my time.

—Hmm, don't I know it? —He lay down on top of him, feeling his hands slowly starting to make patterns on his legs—. And then I tear him open with fire and make his blood boil and his skin melt and his eyes...

—Ah, his eyes...

—Maybe I'll pop them off when he's still alive... do you think he'll be able to see himself? —Martin wrinkled his nose, but still replied in earnest.

—There's one way to find out.

Tim laughed, kissing his nose and his lips before sitting back a bit and mockingly say.

—And then everybody lived happily ever after! Without One asshole ex-boss. The End. —They laughed together despite the bitter edge of his words, knowing in the big scheme of things that Elias didn't matter, much less now that he couldn't see Them, but God he hated him. They both did. His smile fell a bit as his hand rested on his chest—. Could it even work?

There was a glint of something on his lover's eyes, behind the mirth and behind that fake innocent persona he often used.

—...Tim, this is all hypothetical.

—Of course it is.

After a moment Martin sat up, softly threading his hands on his hair as Tim got comfortable on his lap.

—...Don't tell Jon.

—My lips are sealed.

Very occasionally though, once in a blue moon, the Desolation almost admired the Web. When a plan was devious enough as to drag the pain as far as it could, when the actual goal was something good like punishment, it admired its imagination and flexibility, qualities of the fire. An extremely slow fire that could take years to ignite, but one that hurt more than mere stakes, and it could respect that.

And, on a much smaller scale, Tim loved knowing what passed through Martin's mind. From the very first moment where he was simply too obfuscatingly gentle with everything that was happening to them, too accepting of what life was throwing at him, he wanted to know that that wasn't all of it, that he felt anger like he did as well, albeit differently. And now, many many years later, he weaved his threads in silence and more often than not neither Tim nor Jon were allowed to (or even _could_ ) look at the pattern that they made. It was... annoying, sometimes, kept him on his toes from time to time, but when he caught glimpses of the backstage he couldn't help the pride that he felt. Even at the quickest and most infant of ideas like the one they shared that day.

Because that was all it was at the time, a _spark_ of an idea, a mere ember that would, eventually, become a fire. They hadn't spoken word of it since then but Tim knew that it was on Martin's mind, even months, even years after that simple conversation. For the next time it was spoken or simply glanced at they weren't alone, Jon peacefully trapped between the two as Martin held his face a bit higher with his hand, voice dripping with honey.

—Jon? Can I ask you something?

— ...Of course. —Tim could feel how he tensed inside his embrace, probably Knowing that something was wrong but being unable to See what, minds covered with cobwebs and protected by spiders. He kissed the back of his neck as warm hands travelled to his stomach and started making patterns to calm him down, despite Martin's idle smile and dark, sometimes shifting and multiplying eyes, despite the metaphorical and sometimes literal fangs that dripped sweet-tasting venom and his hands, his many hands holding him. Martin looked normal at the moment, looked _human_ enough, but they've all changed, and the sweet smile that he pulled send chills even to Tim's non-existent spine.— What is it, Martin?

—Just... How Important it is for Elias to stay Alive?

And with a shift between his embrace and beneath his lips Tim felt how Jon suddenly Knew.

And oh, how good it felt the slow fire burn inside him, warm, licking at the webs that made their home at the corner of his mind without breaking them.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi can I get more web!martin/desolation!tim? Just imagine..... all the things they could do.... (and even More jontimartin w/ those two powers! It's good!)  
> Its kind of a meta bc I like thinking about the concept of the desolation, but i gotta say its been... a While since i heard any of their eps :') 
> 
> Anyway I hope you liked it!! please consider leaving a review if you did :'D I'm at @yaboyspodcastpalace in tumblr and @Taniushka__12 in twitter n_n


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